A name is a kind of face whereby one is known.
Back on it's golden hinges The Gate of Memory swings,
And my heart goes into the garden and walks with
the olden things.
Everything in the past died yesterday; everything in the future was born today.
Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay it's not the end.
Family stories make the most valuable heirlooms.
Good things come to those who wait.
Heritage is an omnibus in which all our ancestors ride, and every once in a while, one of them puts his head out the window and embarrsaases all the rest of us.
How will our children know who they are if they do not know where they came from.
Memories are forget-me-nots gathered along life's way, pressed close to the heart in a perennial bouquet!
Our heritage and ideals, our code and standards – the things we live by and teach our children – are preserved or diminished by how freely we exchange ideas and feelings.
The sum total of what I am is my children's heritage.
We are who we are because they were who they were. . .